Neither Here Nor There - 1. Chapter 1

Tango

I’ve never been good at one night stands.

The self-indictment loops through my head as I collect my clothing. While others actively seek these serendipitous physical encounters, for me they’re akin to a blockbuster movie. The action scenes are great, but the tired dialogue and retreaded plots leave me empty. I’m left to file out of the theater, listening to the crowd recount thrilling special effects while I’m thinking, “Two hours of my life I’ll never get back.”

I guess I’m still looking for that first scene in an epic romance. For a while tonight, I really thought I had found it. If I hadn’t gotten thirsty, I might still be in bed enjoying the fiction of me with a larger-than-life, leading man.

I move slowly, both in an effort not to wake Hudson, the one night stand in question, and to avoid bruising my shins as I navigate the unfamiliar rooms. Pale dawn rays coming through the floor to ceiling windows provide some light in the main rooms but back here near the entrance, the hallway is dark. With relief, I locate my jeans in a crumpled heap by a small table near the front door. A tray of loose change, some keys and a large stack of mail cover most of the table’s surface. My boots, I recall, would be somewhere in the vicinity, and after some cautious sweeps of my hands across the floor I find them under Hudson’s shirt and jacket.

It had been that sort of hook-up, the two of us walking close as we left the bookstore where we’d met, hands sliding in to each other’s rear pocket as the sidewalks grew less crowded. Our lips had locked as soon as the elevator door slid closed, lifting us up to Hudson’s live-work loft. The loft was in one of the city’s new high rises, built at the top of an already high hill overlooking the Pacific. It was not, however, the view I had noticed as we crossed the threshold. It was the scent of the man whose agile lips were working their way up my neck and along my jaw. He smelled of freshly turned earth after a rain and a hint of lemony citrus. I inhaled deeply only to feel my need for oxygen increase. Head spinning, my jeans had come off as he’d backed me up on the wall. Strong hands lifted me. I was sure his fingerprints were becoming indelibly pressed in my skin. My shirt and binder ended up on the steps to the bedroom.

Hudson was still up there, his deep breathing evidence of a heavy sleep.

I hadn’t left the bedroom with the intention of sneaking out. The intensity of our sexual encounter had taken me by surprise, leaving me energized. When Hudson drifted off to sleep, I slipped out of his embrace and went in search of a glass of water.

The Monet and Lynes prints caught my eye as I made my way back from the kitchen, the artist in me thrilling to the dramatic juxtaposition of impressionist watercolors and black and white photography. The wall on which they hung was massive, extending two stories from the top of the loft’s sleeping area and down to the main floor. The whole of it held the art so that nearly every inch of the wall was covered. Upon closer inspection, I saw the Monets were a complete collection of his Rouen Cathedral series. Meanwhile, the beautiful male nudes by George Platt Lynes hovered between the cathedral walls and over the high ceilinged room like angelic sentries.

Turning away from the art, I strained to see the rest of the room. Windows showcased the twinkling lights of the city, the moon fading into the ombré of grey, purple and watery blue morning light. The shadowed silhouette of a baby grand piano was visible on a raised dais in the corner. A pit of uncertainty formed in my gut. Jenna, my housemate, had told me Hudson was rich.

“The guy made a bunch of money starting some sort of bio-tech company,” she’d said, not quite able to keep the envy from her voice.

We’d been at a book release event for a newly published transgender author. That’s where Hudson had first drawn my attention. He’d arrived just before the start of the reading. Dressed in a faux suede sports coat, flannel slacks and leather loafers, he stood out among the hipster uberqueers. His eyes swept the crowd, passing over me like an arctic heat wave and then returning. I shivered and then went hot. His harshly angled face contributed to the icy first impression, but his eyes radiated a deep, encompassing heat. Unconsciously, I held my breath until he broke our stare. He took a seat in the front row, the same row in which my friends and I were seated. Due to the semi-circle placement of the chairs, he was almost directly across from us. I’d asked my companions if they recognized him.

“Don't know him personally, but from what I hear, Hudson’s a heartless prick. He pretty much dropped out of sight from transgender circles about the same time he cashed out of his company. The least he could have done is pump some of that money into the community. That would be the first thing I’d do if I had a windfall like that.” This self-righteous comment was from Dale, Jenna’s partner and my other housemate.

Although I’d formed some casual friendships since moving here, Jenna and Dale were the only people with whom I could say I had grown close. Dale was the first two-spirit, genderqueer identified person I had met in real life, and the two of us had bonded immediately. It had been a relief to meet someone else like myself, someone who didn’t feel they were either male or female.

After that initial eye contact, I hadn’t been able to prevent my gaze from returning to Hudson again and again. Most of the crowd in attendance fell outside what anyone would describe as gender normative but frankly, I’d not been sure he was trans when I first saw him. He was tall for an FtM, about 5’10”, and clearly had been on testosterone for several years. There was little of the boyish look about him so common with guys in the early stages of transition.

Jenna seemed amused by my interest. Maybe she realized what a mismatch the two of us would be. Being a virtual Wikipedia of biographical data on anyone even remotely related to the queer community in our city, she rushed to fill me in on his background.

Jenna is a gregarious femme who dispenses gossipy morsels like Pez candies. I knew better than to ingest so much of something with zero nutritional worth. But, just like a Pez, after one tasty tidbit, I wanted another and another. My curiosity about Hudson was insatiable. I did nothing to shut Jenna down.

“Like Dale said, Hudson used to be pretty active in the trans community. Peer support groups, educational outreach with schools, things like that. Made his money and went off to Europe for a year or so, probably to get surgery. When he returned he was dating this couple, a gay male couple. That lasted about a year. Didn’t move in with them or anything, but the three of them were serious. They broke up a few months ago. Friendly from what I hear, but that’s just one of three sides to the story.” This level of detail was unusual even for her, and I raised my eyebrows at her in askance.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Ryan, he was one of the gay guys in the relationship, gets a cut every two weeks by Stefan. Stefan’s chair is right next to mine. It’s a hair salon. We gossip.”

I’d slanted a look back over at Hudson, wondering if he realized how much people knew about him. I wondered if it bothered him. He didn’t look ill-at-ease as he sat there, legs extended and crossed at the ankle, flipping through the book we were about to hear from. He looked haggard. Tired. Unexpectedly, he raised his head. Dark, penetrating eyes pinned me, caught me staring.

A little Mona Lisa smile softened his features. He straightened in his seat and subtly adjusted himself. Was he flirting with me? Heat rushed to my face but I held the look, then let my eyes rove slowly down his body. Slim hips, short, dark hair, arms and shoulders that were no stranger to a weight bench. On the whole, he’d been dealt a more than decent genetic hand. The irregular facial features saved him from a pretty boy look and again, that was probably in the plus column for a transguy.

Our flirtation was interrupted when the author stepped to the head of the room and drew the attention of the audience. The book she’d written was non-fiction, a collection of stories from transpeople who had successfully built careers while visibly out. The author had ended her reading with an unexpected announcement.

“I’m so pleased to be able to introduce some of the men and women who allowed me to share their stories. They’ve agreed to join me in answering questions.”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at this point to see Hudson join a handful of other people at the front of the room. Career-wise, he was more than a rising star, he was an entire constellation. He'd started up his company by convincing the tight-knit venture capital community to take a chance on his idea, even if it did come from a transsexual. The story was inspiring. Last night, I had ignored the discomfort that had brushed over me as he described his journey.

This morning, as I had taken in the loft’s lush furnishings, polished hardwood floors and thick rugs, I realized I hadn’t been prepared for the extent of his wealth. The room was a stark contrast to the dim basement apartment I was renting. The niggling uncertainty that had started at the bookstore coalesced in my gut. This guy was way, way out of my league. Clearly Hudson had been slumming, looking for something different, when he picked me up. I’d certainly made it easy for him.

Now, here I was, standing by the door, prepared to slink out under the cover of my self-perceived shortcomings. It was more than just the opulence of my surroundings. In the last few months, the career I’d dreamed of and worked towards since childhood had disappeared into nothing. I swallowed down the anger that unfailingly accompanied thoughts about my career. Truth was, a lot of the anger was self-directed. I hadn’t exactly been doing much more than drift through life lately. Suffice it to say that Hudson and I were not on a similar trajectory when it came to pursuing our dreams.

This one night stand business was not for me. I grab the doorknob and swing my backpack up to a shoulder, tapping the stack of mail on the table in the process and sending it fluttering to the floor.

“Damn. Damn. Damn.” Crouching down, I hurriedly scoop up the envelopes. I strain my eyes to locate all of them and struggle to get everything back on the table without falling. Again I grab the doorknob, but this time I hesitate. For all our differences, the night had been truly extraordinary. I'd gotten all of the special effects and a storyline too. My hand dropped away from the door. I had one thing I needed to do before I left.